This was a Gift that I wanted. I sat on my hands, willing myself not to unconsciously steal it. I couldn’t just go around ripping magic from everyone I met. It was too late, though: whatever made my blood sing when I saw Morna Carnegie’s Gift was already working. My senses swam with the now-familiar head rush and stomach-churning nausea. I closed my eyes to steady myself while next to me Angus stiffened.

‘I’ve never seen her falter before.’

Shite. I opened one eye, worried about what I’d see. This was an elderly woman; who knew what would happen if I stole part of her Sidhe nature? I bit my lip while Morna Carnegie paused, confusion clouding her face. All around her the banks of multi-coloured heather swayed, their tips leaning towards her as if they were concerned about her. She blinked once, twice, shook herself and continued. I breathed out. She’d obviously felt something happen but she still had some of her Gift left.

I had to find a way to control my new power. I couldn’t be responsible for sending Sidhe, who were no more of a danger than professional flower arrangers, into an early grave.

‘What happened there?’ I asked, wishing my heart would stop racing.

Angus looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she skipped breakfast or something.’

I leaned back, sitting on my hands to stop them trembling, and watched her finish. She certainly had amazing control. As her arms continued to flick out around her and her fingers snapped with increasing speed, the design of the flowers around her started to take shape. A Celtic knot entirely made out of heather ‒ damn, that was clever. Everyone else obviously agreed with me, leaping to their feet with thunderous applause.

Morna curtsied, although there was no denying she still looked shaken. She walked off, the flowers parting to allow her to leave without trampling on a single bloom. Then a man of similar age strode out to take her place.

‘Who’s that?’ I asked.

Angus scowled. ‘Morna’s opposite.’

His actions were similar to hers: he raised his arms, swung them out with a flourish and clicked his fingers. The first row of blooming heather withered and died. An involuntary cry escaped me, followed by a snicker from several of the other competitors. At least Angus didn’t laugh this time and he squeezed my hand reassuringly.

The man spun round, snapping away. One by one, each row of flowers died. What a shitty Gift. Where Morna had provided life – natural life filled with beauty and optimism – this Sidhe was completely different. I glared at him as he killed off the intricate design, leaving behind little more than blackened roots. Needless to say, I felt no dizziness; I wanted no part of this Gift, subconsciously or otherwise.